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A Fable for the Beginning

The innocence of the adolescent whirled around the ricocheted words of her mother. A series of stories frequently expressed brought fears to the child. A damaged child with the fear of a shadow.

I was that child. I believed everything my mother told me to the point of insomnia. My behavioral issues that would later come were a direct result of those stories. The developing issues left doctors scratching their heads. The persona’s that had taken over were powerful enough to create the visions I saw on a daily basis.

My mother’s Lullabies were far from innocent. These fables are so upsetting, I am surprised that they are a childs nursery rhyme. One such fairy tale began like this:

“The Monster”

He sits in the corner,

crouching like a tiger.

Watching you sleep,

is his only desire.

His vile breath

filling the room

making death

your only doom

Inching near

he steals your soul

A single tear

will takes its toll.

You soon become blank

as the world does not exist

It is no prank

when you make his list.

I cringed at the tone of this story. I felt like it was real. When my mother would recite it every night like a bedtime lullaby, the corner of my room became the darkest place on earth. I don’t think she realized the effect the story had on me. On these nights, I watched the corner of my room intently, waiting for this monster to appear.

He never did until one night. That night was eerily still and vacant. Nothing and nobody was around. I sat in my bed, watching the corner as usual and he made his presence known. It was just like my mothers story. That vile breath and his inching closer with each minute. I didn’t know how long I would be able to last. I shifted the covers over my head as he swooshed to my bedside.

I could smell the vileness that is his breath and nearly vomited under the blankets. The heat that my own energy created circulated the stench so violently that gagging was mandatory. I could feel his presence lingering and I couldn't escape the heated oder trap. I had to pull the covers off for a moment of fresh air. Slowly the covers came off my eyes and nothing. My nose creeped out next followed by my mouth and I saw nothing. Where was he? The smell gone. The presence gone. Nothing. It didn’t make sense. Was that how it was supposed to be? To leave me with the haunting question of “is this monster real?”

Maybe it was all in my head? Maybe it was just my imagination at play making shapes out of the shadows that circulated my room? What ever it was, nothing could explain that vomitizing smell that came with it. There was only a few times that “The Monster” and I met. Other such occasions were met with “The Beast”, “ The Girl” and “The Silent Killer”. I have to say “The Silent Killer” was by far the worse.

When daylight struck my bedroom I knew I have survived the night. Only, I felt different. Nothing was the same. I was angry, upset and agitated. Not even chocolate chip waffles and strawberry banana smoothies could snap me back. For several weeks this occurred, making my sleep cycle almost non existent. I began to stay up, night after night with agonizing fear.

The expression that each company presented left me with a riddle. A riddle that till this day, I still haven't figured it out. This perplexing statement drove me mad. I was left in shambles as I scribbled the words over and over. Repeating the riddled poem:

What is a thing that can’t be heard?

A single thing that’s not absurd.

Who has a normal fact of existence,

will soon require some assistance

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